


Run! It's Godzilla!!

by ZealouslyQuixotic



Category: Avengers (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers come to help, Batman does not approve, Loki runs rampant in Gotham City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZealouslyQuixotic/pseuds/ZealouslyQuixotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki runs rampant through Gotham City. John gets thrown into buildings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run! It's Godzilla!!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request by Oursisthe_fury for an Avengers / Batman crossover that takes place in Gotham City.

Run it’s Godzilla (read: Loki)!

John Blake was having a bad night. Scratch that, John Blake was having a shit night. If pressed he would probably admit to it being the worst night of his illustrious, borderline illegal, career.  
It had started out fairly normal; as usual he had shimmied into a skin-tight suit and then proceeded to ninja out of his apartment in order to fight the crime that plagued Gotham’s streets like head-lice.  
A perfectly average evening – if only it had stayed that way.  
Strike one had been the unnervingly vicious poodle that had managed to rip off a sizeable chunk of his uniform, just shy of his left buttock.  
Strike two had been a villain who called himself ‘The Killer Octopus’ who had actually patted John – Nightwing – on the head, shoved a glass of lemonade into his hand and attempted to make him sit down and wait for ‘the adults to arrive’. Of course the guy had long since left 90 in the review mirror and had recently escaped from a home for the criminally senile, but it still stung.  
Strike three was currently running rampant through the streets, crushing buildings and unwary civilians underfoot like goddamn Godzilla.  
Apparently, no one had told him the movie took place in China.  
It was the biggest catastrophe since Bane, and John privately thought it was much, much, worse. At least Bane had been human. Whatever was dismantling buildings like Lego blocks, was clearly not. Did he mention that it was at least fifty feet tall, green, and bearing a passing resemblance to a made-up dinosaur like creature?  
Basically, John was screwed.  
…

GREEN DINOSAUR WRECKS GOTHAM!

WATCH OUT! DINO COMING THROUGH…

NIGHT WING? OR NIGHTWRUNG?

RUN! IT’S GODZILLA!!

Gordon thrust the paper aside with a scowl and dropped his forehead onto the wooden table with an audible thunk.  
Things were not going well.  
A giant green monster was terrorizing Gotham and all Nightwing had managed to do was get himself thrown into buildings and mocked by the media for ‘failing to live up to Batman’ (whom they were quiet happy to speak kindly about now that he was dead). Privately, Gordon thought this extremely unfair – he didn’t see any of them volunteering to fight the fifty foot tall monstrosity.  
Most of the police force had run screaming in terror while the rest, trigger happy macho men that they were, stood staunchly by the barricades and shot at the thing until every shell had been utilised to absolutely no effect.  
It was as if the thing was made of dust. Completely intangible except that it was somehow managing to destroy entire buildings, crack sturdy roads with every step, and send unfortunate people sailing through the air.  
It was almost like magic and dear lord he really hoped that it wasn’t.  
Gotham was home to all manner of lowlife thugs, psychotic clowns, and monstrous madmen with penchants for world destruction, but magic was other people’s shit.  
‘Sir?’  
‘What?’ Gordon mumbled into the table.  
‘You need to see this.’  
Gordon looked up; the young man’s face was as grim as his tone. With a sigh, he extricated himself from the chair and walked stiffly into the other room. It was five in the morning and earlier he had been forcefully introduced to the extremely solid wall of the National Bank of Gotham. They had shared harsh words but the bank had ultimately emerged from that battle victorious.  
In the other room, the television was on and his officers were clustered around it. Almost all of them were nursing similar wounds – bruised bodies, damaged egos and more than one concussion per square inch.  
The news was playing and a reporter was standing in front a large strip of unadulterated chaos that Gordon though might have once been Gotham’s Mexican district.  
‘…seems to have been caused by a large, reptilian, creature…’ she was saying. ‘Witnesses have compared it to Godzilla, although some insist it was transparent and that there was a man inside it.’  
Gordon blinked, ‘well that’s new.’  
‘It gets better,’ Ralph, a red-haired rookie, informed him.  
The picture swapped over to another reporter – this one a short man in a pristine suit – who had apparently scored an interview with ‘the man inside the monster’.  
‘…and who are you, exactly?’ The reporter questioned.  
‘I am Loki.’ The tall man beside him smiled predatorily into the camera, ‘and I am burdened with glorious purpose.  
Alarm bells rang in Gordon’s head that catapulted him back to a classified report that had been distributed to the high-ups in the police by a mysterious entity known as S.H.I.E.L.D. It had involved a warning about a so-called alien super villain who was thought to be hiding somewhere on earth…and if he remembered correctly the villain was a tall, man-like, being that had attempted to destroy New York with an army of alien-creatures.  
His name was Loki.  
He used magic.  
‘Oh hell no.’  
…

Coulson was polishing off a tasty peanut butter sandwich when his phone buzzed obnoxiously in his pocket. He fished it out and tucked it against his ear as he chewed the last delicious morsel.  
‘Coulson.’ He said into the receiver.  
‘It’s Peterson, Sir. I have a Commissioner Gordon from Gotham City on the line. He says it’s urgent and involves Loki’.  
‘Put him through.’ Coulson sighed.  
They hadn’t heard from Loki in over a year since he’d escaped from whatever constituted an Asgardian prison. He supposed it had been too much to hope the guy had gone off and died miserably on some other planet.  
‘Agent Coulson?’ A gruff voice came down the line.  
‘Yes,’ Coulson tapped his fingers lightly against the metal surface of his desk. ‘You must be Commissioner Gordon, delighted I’m sure – I believe you have information concerning the war-criminal Loki?’  
‘Yes.’ Gordon said shortly, ‘he’s currently destroying my city.’  
…

When Tony Stark got the call he was butt-naked on the couch in the living room with two very special guests - although, actually he did have socks on.  
‘Not home.’ He said immediately, leaning into special guest #1 and taking a huge bite. He licked his lips salaciously and made a noise of contentment.  
His tower rang again.  
‘Sir, Agent Coulson is quite emphatic that he must speak with you.’ JARVIS said drily.  
‘Tell him I’m in heaven.’ Tony slid his hands along special guest #2, feeling the cold perspiration against his skin.  
‘Sir, my security systems are being bypassed.’ JARVIS reported helpfully.  
His screen flickered on and Coulson’s face filled up the previously empty space.  
‘Stark.’ Coulson deadpanned.  
‘Agent.’ Tony said equally monotonously. He would not be embarrassed for sitting naked in his own living room, thank you very much. What he chose to do in the company of pizza and beer was his own damn business.  
Coulson’s eyebrows said “why am I not surprised?”  
What actually came out of his mouth was more like, ‘I have a mission for you.’  
‘Oh goody,’ Tony clapped his hands together. ‘Do I get to save Christmas?’  
‘Not on the cards.’ Coulson said regretfully, ‘how about Gotham City?’  
…

It had taken half an hour to assemble the Avengers, twenty minutes to get them all on a functioning plane, and one hour to fly them to a place that was known for literally digesting hopeful wannabes and excreting their remains into the dark ranks of the lowlife.  
Gotham City.  
Even the name stank of despair.  
Tony stretched lazily in the comfortable seats of the Quinjet and smirked; this was his kind of city.  
‘What are you so damn pleased about?’ Clint snarked from his spot at the rear of the jet. He was perched on his seat, chin resting on his knees, and casually defying the laws of gravity that bound lesser people.  
‘Oh nothing,’ Tony rolled his head so he could just see the archer out of the corner of his eye. He flicked his sunglasses down as he raised a singular eyebrow, ‘does my pleasure disturb your roosting?’  
‘It might.’ Clint said noncommittally, and then smirked. ‘Mostly it’s just your face though.’  
‘Too attractive for you?’ Tony tutted, ‘I would offer my sincerest apologies, but it simply isn’t my fault I’m so devilishly handsome. You should really work on your control.’  
Clint snorted, ‘be glad that I do.’  
‘Well I dunno…’ Tony waggled his eyebrows, ‘you’re not entirely well, um, there’s really no other way to put it – cursed with a face that frightens small children. Could be a fun night…might have to turn the lights off…’ He shrugged, ‘I’ve done worse.’  
‘So are you telling me I’m ugly, or that you want to sleep with me?’ Clint hovered somewhere between taking offence and just giving in to the insanity that was any conversation with Tony Stark.  
‘Well, honey, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.’ Tony drawled.  
‘Oh, sugar-muffin.’ Clint deadpanned, ‘you flatter me so.’  
Tony could not contain his snort at the moniker.  
‘I would pay an absolute fortune to hear Coulson say that.’ He announced.  
‘He would,’ Natasha warned from the cockpit. ‘Just to spite you.’  
‘I would.’ Coulson confirmed. He was seated beside her and wore the smug smirk of someone who’d just come into a large amount of money.  
‘Sugar-muffin.’ He said slowly and with great emphasis. ‘Pay up Stark.’  
Tony dug a fortune cookie out of his pocket and flung it at the Agent’s back. Coulson caught it without even a cursory glance.  
He snapped the cookie in half.  
‘Your life be good,’ he read, ‘should you not die.’  
‘Well it’s not wrong.’ Tony pointed out.  
‘Could we be serious for a second?’ Steve interjected. He was seated just behind Coulson, shield resting on his lap like a cat.  
‘Well I don’t know,’ Tony wondered, ‘can we?’  
Predictably, Steve ignored him.  
‘This is Loki we’re going up against,’ he frowned, ‘and this time, we don’t have Thor.’  
‘Beat’m once,’ Clint shrugged nonchalantly, though his face darkened.  
‘This time he doesn’t have an army, either.’ Bruce said quietly. He shifted nervously when the others turned to regard him.  
‘No, he just has Godzilla.’ Tony said waving his hand lazily. ‘Scourge of China, and all.’  
‘Well, there is that.’ Bruce admitted, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. ‘Although I believe that is more a physical manifestation of his magic, than an actual reptilian monster.’  
‘Does it matter?’ Steve asked, ‘I mean, one giant monster or another…is there really any difference?’  
Bruce scratched the corner of his mouth thoughtfully.  
‘Well, if I’m right then we only have to beat one of them.’  
‘Once Loki’s down, the monster goes with him.’ Coulson nodded his approval.  
‘They’ll both still be trying to kill us,’ Clint muttered darkly.  
‘If it’s magic, then won’t he run out?’ Natasha glanced at Bruce, ‘it’s like energy, right?’  
‘Theoretically,’ Bruce agreed, ‘but I’ve never been able to study it. Not every day you find a magic-user willing to sit down and let you run tests on them.’  
‘No, most of the time they’re trying to mindfuck you into thinking you’re their happy little minion.’ Clint said pleasantly.  
There was silence for a full three seconds.  
‘Yeah,’ said Tony. ‘Ain’t that a bitch?’  
…

Gordon was beginning to regret calling in ‘the big guns’.  
For starters, they squabbled like a busload of prepubescent teenagers.  
Batman would have had a conniption - good thing he was safely in his grave. Nightwing probably wouldn’t thank him for this either, even though the childish mob of superheros was, in effect, the only thing standing between him and death by over exposure to the hard parts of local buildings.  
As Gordon watched, two of the men broke away from the argument and approached him. One was dressed formally in a pressed suit with a lilac shirt, the other in star-spangled tights that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.  
A typical New York superhero, he thought darkly, gaudy peacocks the lot of them.  
‘Commissioner Gordon?’ The suit stuck out a calloused hand, a benign smile on his face. ‘Phil Coulson.’  
Gordon shook the hand and forced an answering smile out of the tight corners of his mouth.  
‘Thank you for coming.’ He looked past Coulson to where a robot suit – Ironman, his brain provided – was engaged in some kind of yelling argument with two black-clad people who looked fairly normal but were probably anything but. One of them had a quiver of arrows and a bow slung over his shoulder, the other had a gun holstered at her hip.  
‘This is Captain Rogers,’ Coulson drew his attention to the living embodiment of the American flag he had standing beside him. ‘Better known as Captain America.’  
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.’ Captain America shook Gordon’s hand briskly, ‘I understand you have a pest problem.’  
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Gordon said wryly.  
‘The Avengers can handle Loki,’ Coulson assured him. ‘He’s dangerous, but he lacks conviction.’  
‘Doesn’t seem to need it,’ Gordon sighed.  
‘Where is he now?’ Captain America wanted to know.  
‘Don’t know,’ Gordon shrugged. ‘He disappeared with the dawn.’  
‘You mentioned he spoke with a reporter?’ Coulson asked.  
‘Yes.’  
‘Might we see the tape?’  
…

It played out like an unfairly rigged game of Tetris (where all the blocks had conflicting personalities along with their mismatched shapes), but eventually Gordon managed to settle five superheros and their handler into his tiny office. Perhaps not comfortably, but they fit.  
Coulson and the red-haired female had claimed the tiny couch while the archer perched on the arm with unnerving balance. Captain America and a mild-mannered man introduced to him as ‘Bruce’ also known as ‘Big green fighting machine’ or ‘Hulk’ were seated on the floor, squashed between the occupied couch and Gordon’s desk. Ironman was standing by the door, apparently the suit made it fairly awkward to sit.  
Gordon pushed the television into a corner of the room that gave the best vantage point and switched it on. He flicked through the various news channels until he found one that was showing the interview with Loki.  
‘…and who are you, exactly?’ The reporter questioned.  
‘I am Loki, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.’  
‘Heard that before,’ the archer snorted.  
‘Would you explain what that means?’ The reporter asked eagerly, seemingly unconcerned that he was interviewing a madman.  
‘Why of course.’ Loki flashed his perfect white teeth, ‘I have come to free you dear people.’  
The archer scoffed loudly and this time received a quelling look from the suit.  
‘Free us?’ The reporter wondered, ‘free us from what?’  
‘Why, life.’ Loki said serenely.  
The reporter seemed to grasp the danger he was in, his hand trembling as he fumbled the microphone.  
‘Oh…umm,’ he steadied himself, ‘what…do you mean…?’  
‘But of course,’ Loki reached out and took the microphone from him. ‘I mean to kill you all.’  
The colour drained from the reporter’s face, his eyes widening in shock. He turned and fled, but didn’t get far. Loki’s hand flickered, there was a flash of silver, and the man collapsed to the ground.  
‘Dagger.’ The female muttered.  
The cameras cut out shortly after as everything was engulfed in a wash of green. It was replaced quickly by earlier footage of Loki’s rampage through the streets.  
‘Why Godzilla?’ Ironman wondered, ‘I mean, sure he’s a badass reptilian lizard but as far as monsters go…’  
‘Shut up Stark.’ Captain America snapped. ‘This isn’t the time for your jokes.’  
Gordon imagined he was supposed to sound commanding, but it was hard to take anyone seriously in an outfit that had wings for ears.  
‘Make me.’ Stark said immediately. He went to continue but Gordon interrupted him.  
‘Enough.’ He growled. ‘For God’s sake, you are supposed to be heroes. Role-models.’ He rubbed his temples, the weariness that accompanied a night without sleep catching up with him. ‘What kind of team is this?’ He asked the suit disparagingly, ‘did you throw it together on the plane ride here?!’  
‘The Avengers are a relatively new unit.’ Coulson admitted, completely unruffled.  
‘No? Really??’ Gordon may have overdone the sarcasm, but he would admit nothing.  
‘However,’ Coulson continued smoothly, ‘they will perform as a unit, and they will apprehend the war-criminal Loki.’  
‘You have our word on that, Commissioner.’ Captain America promised.  
‘Apprehend? Speak for yourself,’ the archer muttered.  
The female elbowed him viciously in the ribs which almost caused him to topple off of the couch.  
‘Ouch Tasha,’ he complained. ‘I just meant…’  
‘I know what you meant.’ She said softly, dangerously.  
Gordon decided not to enquire; he didn’t think he really wanted to know.  
In fact, he knew he didn’t. All he wanted was for this bunch of adult children to do their damn jobs and get rid of Loki, after which they could bugger off out of his city and never return.  
He was probably too optimistic.  
‘Thank you.’ He said to Captain America. ‘How do you want to begin?’  
‘We’ll start searching for him.’ Captain America answered, ‘and in failing that…’  
‘We let him find us.’ Ironman finished with a touch of glee in his words.  
Gordon restrained a wince; he had a really bad feeling about letting a bunch of immature superheros run, well, rampant through his city. He needed to find them a baby-sitter…and he knew just the man for the job.  
‘Hmm actually,’ Gordon mused, ‘I think I should introduce you to someone first…’  
John was probably going to kill him for this.  
…

John Blake’s day was, frankly, not a hell of an improvement on his night. It had begun somewhere completely unexpected – namely, in the frozen food section of a thoroughly trashed convenience store. He couldn’t be sure how he got there but, oh who was he kidding? He had been trounced mercilessly by Loki and then flung into a convenience store like one might fling dirty underwear, or a letter from the IRS. He had a concussion the size of a hand grenade throbbing on his head and he was currently lying on several bags of once-upon-a-time frozen peas. To make matters worse, it appeared to be daylight. And there were people. Lots of people.  
He thrust a reluctant hand up to his face to check his mask. It was intact. It was probably the only thing that was.  
‘Are you alright, son?’ A concerned elderly gentleman leaned over him.  
‘…yea…f-ok.’ He mumbled and the man unhelpfully split into three and danced a samba in front of his puzzled eyes. He blinked slowly. The world swum back into a sort of focus that he supposed would have to do.  
‘What time is it?’ He rasped.  
‘0500 hours,’ the man helped him sit up and handed him a bottle of water.  
He muttered his thanks and took a long swig, emptying nearly half in one go.  
‘How long have…wait, where’s Loki?’ He glanced out across the crowd as though the villain might emerge as if summoned by the name.  
‘He vanished.’ A young boy told him solemnly, ‘as soon as the sun came up.’  
‘Vanished?’ John repeated with a frown. ‘Damn.’  
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ the old man said kindly. ‘You were no match for him.’  
‘Gee, thanks.’ John said sullenly. It dawned on him that he should probably make an escape sometime soon. Though he wasn’t sure how. Batman’s creepy ninja skills hadn’t been part of the superhero package. He dragged himself to his feet and, by some act of will, managed to stay on them.  
He was so out of his league.  
Loki was going to kill him.  
Goddamn Batman, he thought uncharitably, if only you hadn’t gone and bloody died, maybe we’d actually have a chance.  
‘Hey, Nightwing?’ A little girl tugged his arm and, testament to how drained he was from the “battle” – which had proven to be an incredibly one-sided affair - he nearly fell over.  
‘Uh, yeah?” He said eloquently.  
‘Will Batman come help you now?’ She stared at him earnestly.  
He cursed the son-of-a-bitch again.  
‘No.’ He said shortly, ‘he won’t.’  
‘But why not?’ She persisted, ‘if he just…’  
‘He’s dead.’ John snapped and then mentally smacked himself upside the head.  
The little girl’s eyes filled with tears.  
John could just imagine the headlines.  
He sighed and apologised, feeling the glares of the public settle on his shoulders.  
‘He’s not!’ She said tremulously, ‘he’ll come back – you’ll see!’  
John looked at her and saw himself, saw exactly what he had hoped until the day he had realised that Batman really wasn’t coming back. That the mantle of his unsung hero work had now fallen to John, that he was expected to pick it up and just…carry on.  
‘I hope so.’ He said, without conviction, and then turned and limped away.  
It got worse from there.  
…

It had taken him two hours to limp back to his apartment. Half of that first hour had been spent trying to find something, anything, to change into so he didn’t have to reveal his secret identity to everyone in his neighbourhood – either that or risk doing a nudie run. He had never really considered the logistics of having to sneak back in to his apartment in broad daylight. Clearly he had not had the foresight to imagine himself being knocked unconscious for five hours.  
Really, he should have known better.  
He had eventually come across a homeless man who was absolutely stoked to be able to trade his well-worn rags for a “legitimate Nightwing suit, scrounged from the battlefield itself – complete with rips and blood!”  
He hadn’t been a bright sort, but that worked in John’s favour so he wasn’t complaining. John had then walked the remaining hour and a half back to his apartment with only one thought in mind – bed. He was practically fantasizing about it. Those smooth sheets, the mattress, oh the pillows…wait, were those voices coming from his apartment?  
Of fucking course. It just figured that his apartment would be broken into.  
What had he possibly done, in this or any other life, to warrant the Universe’s evidently eternal wrath?  
He flung the door open with spectacular flourish, determined to catch the intruder in the act.  
Seven people flipped their shit; one flew straight up into the air, one had an arrow nocked, another a gun, the fourth was just standing there with a shield, the fifth was a frightening shade of green, and the last two blinked at him with varying shades of amusement and concern.  
John took the scene in, and then made for the stairs.  
No way was he dealing with this shit.  
‘John!’ Commissioner Gordon shouted as footsteps sounded after him.  
John very reluctantly ceased his flight and turned around. He crossed his arms and levelled the Commissioner with his most potent glare.  
‘John.’ Gordon said again and then frowned, ‘what in God’s name are you wearing?’  
‘No comment.’ John said shortly. ‘Why did you bring Disneyland to my apartment?’  
There was a sudden, ‘hey, I resent that’ intermixed with a, ‘no, you resemble that’, which Gordon steamrolled over.  
‘They’re here to help.’  
John raised an eyebrow.  
‘Well unless they’re here to help me set up the D.I.Y barbeque I bought the other day, they can go play possum on the streets for all I care.’  
Gordon scowled at him.  
‘How about you tell me why you look like you went five rounds with a bulldozer?’  
John narrowed his eyes.  
‘None of your business.’ He said obstinately.  
Normally he and Gordon got on like Oxygen and Hydrogen, but something about the whole situation had him on edge. Maybe it was the fact that he had six strangers in various colours of the rainbow cluttering up his apartment, or maybe it was that Gordon had just made reference to his secret nightlife in front of said strangers…or maybe it was just because he had spent the night playing catch with Gotham City, oh no wait; that had been Loki. John had been the ball.  
‘Son,’ Gordon refused to be dragged into an argument. ‘We need help. Loki is far more than we are equipped to handle.’  
‘So?’ John dragged the words out through gritted teeth. ‘What does this have to do with me? I no longer work for you – remember?’  
‘I know.’ Gordon sighed, ‘but you’re the best man for the job.’  
He had so far made no mention of Nightwing. Perhaps this job was unrelated.  
‘Alright.’ John considered, ‘what is the job?’  
‘I need a baby-sitter.’  
John blinked.  
‘Screw you.’ He brushed past Gordon and stormed into his apartment.  
Oh right, Disneyland.  
He took refuge in the bathroom – it was the only door that locked.  
…

Later, when he had showered, he condescended to enter the main room of the apartment. It was still occupied, only there were now only six.  
Gordon had vanished.  
Bastard, he scowled. The thought was far fonder than he had intended.  
There were still people in his apartment. Three of them were on his couch. One of them was in the kitchen, another had actually set his barbeque up on the small balcony outside, and the sixth was…wait, where was the sixth?  
‘Over here.’ A quiet voice said from beside him.  
John wrestled with his fight or flight response and turned slowly to face the voice.  
‘Phil Coulson.’ The man stretched his hand out.  
John looked at it and then sighed and shook it.  
‘John Blake.’  
‘We’re sorry to impinge upon your time,’ Coulson said apologetically, ‘but Commissioner Gordon seemed to think you’d be very helpful to our…investigation.’  
‘In what capacity?’ John asked suspiciously.  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a red-haired woman turn and study him carefully. He resisted the urge to shudder.  
‘As a guide.’ Coulson informed him, ‘he seems to think you know the streets of Gotham better even than the criminals.’  
John conceded the point with a sharp nod, but did not elaborate. They didn’t need to know his history, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell them.  
‘Where do you need to go?’ He asked reluctantly.  
‘We’re searching for Loki,’ Coulson informed him, ‘so, wherever he could be hiding.’  
‘Are you so sure he’s hiding?’ John stretched his neck the side, feeling the bones click with the movement.  
‘It doesn’t matter.’ The man standing in the kitchen told him. ‘Whatever he’s up to, we’ll put a stop to it.’  
John blinked at him and then snorted.  
‘What are you – American Smurf?’  
His comment prompted a guffaw of laughter from the red and gold robot standing next to his new barbeque.  
‘I like this guy.’ The robot’s visor was open so John could make out the man inside. It was Tony Stark – so this was the famous Ironman.  
A thought occurred to him – Tony Stark was a genius, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy. So basically, he was Bruce Wayne – AKA Batman – with a functioning colour palette.  
Great.  
‘This is Captain America,’ Coulson stepped in and pointed at the blue man.  
The aforementioned hero nodded curtly, obviously miffed by the Smurf statement. Well too bad, John stuck by it.  
‘That over there is Ironman,’ Coulson pointed to the robot. ‘This is Dr. Banner, a noted expert on Gamma radiation.’  
John nodded politely at the guy but wondered what the hell he was doing in the zoo – he seemed normal.  
‘This is Agent Barton, and Agent Romanoff,’ he gestured at a dark clad man and then at the woman who had creeped John out earlier.  
‘I don’t know where Loki is,’ John said to the room, ‘but I suppose I can show you where to start looking.’  
…

John ditched them around seven in the evening. It was shockingly easy. They had been in the midst of an intense argument about what to eat for dinner, and John had simply faded into the shadows the way he imagined a good ninja of the night should. Then he had hightailed it to his apartment and become Nightwing, this time leaving a set of spare clothes hidden in a loose brick in the alleyway.  
Currently he was on his way to yell at Gordon. Loudly, and with great relish.  
He landed on the roof of the police building quietly and rolled to his feet. His bruises twinged but he ignored them.  
Gordon was already there, looking sheepish. Clearly he had expected the encounter.  
John was seized with an immense sense of satisfaction.  
‘What were you thinking?’ He stalked towards the older man.  
‘We need help.’ Gordon said stubbornly.  
‘And that required introducing me to them – in daylight!?’ He threw his arms up in the air and scowled.  
‘They don’t know.’ Gordon said calmly.  
‘Yet.’ John hissed. ‘How the hell did you manage to keep Batman’s secret for all those years?’  
Gordon looked uncomfortable.  
‘I didn’t know.’ He admitted. ‘Shit, John, I’m sorry okay? I didn’t know what to do.’ His shoulders slumped and suddenly he was fifty-plus and bone tired. ‘Just when I think this city has thrown all it can at me…’ he sighed, ‘I’m too old for this.’  
John felt like the kind of person who pulled the wings off of flies just to watch them squirm.  
‘You can’t fight magic John.’ Gordon said quietly, ‘you, you’re just…well, you’re human. We all are – even Batman.’  
‘He wouldn’t agree.’ John said stubbornly, but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew Gordon was right.  
‘Son, I think he learnt that the hard way.’ Gordon put a hand on his shoulder, ‘don’t make the same mistake.’  
‘I know,’ John said finally.  
It didn’t exactly fit the conversation, but he knew Gordon understood.  
…

Loki didn’t show that night. John waited until four in the morning before he had to conclude that it was a waste of time. He crept back to his apartment and changed in the alleyway, he was almost certain he knew what he would find when he got upstairs.  
He wasn’t proven wrong.  
‘Where the hell were you?’ Stark threw at him the moment he stepped through the door.  
‘Out.’ John said shortly.  
‘Out where?’ Stark persisted. ‘Bowling? Swing-dancing?’  
John considered.  
The spy woman was giving him a calculating look, he wondered what she suspected.  
‘With a girl.’ He lied and went to the kitchen to brew coffee.  
‘You ditched a bunch of superheroes trying to save your city in order to spend the night with a girl?’ Stark questioned, he sounded impressed.  
‘Yes.’ John put the kettle on.  
‘I like this guy.’ Stark declared.  
‘I wish I could return the sentiment,’ John said darkly, ‘but unfortunately that would be a blatant lie and I just don’t think I could pull it off this early in the morning.’  
‘Now I like this guy.’ Barton chuckled.  
‘Oh happy day,’ John muttered, and then did the math in his head. ‘Where are the rest of you?’  
‘Coulson had to go play superspy,’ Stark said helpfully. ‘Brucie’s in the shower.’  
‘Fantastic.’ John groused.  
The kettle beeped. His mood lightened infinitesimally.  
…

Sneaking away the second night was much, much harder. For one thing, Stark stuck to him like some kind of bizarre metal barnacle. For another, the spy woman had been watching him very carefully. He might have been flattered, if he’d thought she had anything better to do.  
Loki was still refusing to make an appearance; probably just to spite them all. Oh, you came all this way just to apprehend little old me? Should have made an appointment.  
Privately, John did wonder if the madman had simply moved on. Perhaps he had found another helpless city to play out his domination fantasies with – maybe even one that didn’t bite back.  
A guy could dream, right?  
Perching on rooftops was starting to become a chore. He hadn’t seen action all night – even the normal criminals were safely stowed away in their burrows, waiting out the winter of destruction that was Loki.  
Of course, he should have just taken the rare silence and run with it.  
Then again, he was John Blake.  
So what actually happened was that Loki finally made an appearance. It was spectacular, green, and overwhelming.  
John could remember all of five seconds of it.  
…

When he woke, he was in his own bed. It was testament to both his concussion and his sleep deprivation that it took him a full ten minutes to realise he had no idea how he had got there. Even as the thought entered his head, he couldn’t really bring himself to care about it.  
Life was so wonderful.  
He blinked at the errant thought and then shrugged mentally; well maybe it was. Eventually he rolled out of bed and noticed that he was wearing a pair of pyjamas he privately associated with his ‘sunshine days’. They were two sizes too small and involved pink ducks and rainbow umbrellas.  
He didn’t care.  
He wandered out of the bedroom into what could only be described as chaos.  
Meh, whatever.  
He was halfway through boiling his morning coffee when he deigned to look up and notice that all attention was fixated on him.  
‘Hi.’ He said pleasantly.  
He got no reply, but it was of no consequence.  
‘Are you…okay, John?’ Dr. Banner finally asked. His expression was plainly concerned.  
‘Of course, never better.’ John said cheerfully. He poured a cup of coffee. God he loved coffee. Coffee was the best.  
After several gulps, his mellowing happiness started to fade. In its place, it kindly left a headache - the kind that sent even grown men back to bed with cup-a-soups and hot water bottles.  
John bit back a groan and set the coffee on the counter so that he could brace his hands against it.  
‘Why do I feel like someone used me as a helmet?’ He mumbled, forgetting he had company. It really shouldn’t have come as a shock when he got a reply.  
‘Hang over?’ Stark asked sympathetically.  
‘The fuck,’ he startled elegantly and promptly threw his coffee at the man.  
Stark blinked at him in disgust and astonishment. Someone, somewhere, cackled something worthy of a Disney villain.  
‘That was my coffee.’ John said mournfully.  
‘That,’ Stark said slowly, ‘was not coffee.’  
John noticed he wasn’t wearing his suit, which probably explained how he’d managed to sneak up on him.  
‘You’re wearing my coffee.’ John told him.  
‘How are you the injured party here?’ Stark demanded incredulously.  
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Banner asked again, his brown eyes narrowed.  
‘…I was.’ John sighed.  
…

That night, John stalked them. He had slipped away again, or tried to - this time he had been largely unsuccessful if Ironman’s gleeful ‘have fun with your girlfriend’ was anything to go by. Still, they hadn’t been bothered by his leaving, so that made things easier.  
He had become Nightwing, and then headed back to where he had left them. Predictably, they were still there. One thing he had discovered was that this lot never did anything quickly. Quite the opposite, in fact.  
Mostly they just hung around the big jet they had arrived in. Presumably they had some sort of surveillance equipment in there; either that or they figured Loki couldn’t possibly appear in the city without causing some kind of noticeable havoc.  
They were probably right.  
It would have been easy to just hang back in the shadows and observe them (well what he could see through the windows, anyway) but John had a far greater task to achieve.  
He had a bag slung on his shoulder that he dropped to the ground and rifled through. There was slightly large clothing in it; an AC-DC shirt, dark trousers, and a pair of sneakers. He put them on over his Nightwing suit and stashed the mask and boots in the bag.  
Slinging the bag back over his shoulder he emerged from the shadows and strolled towards the jet. It was a pretty sleek piece of aeronautical design and he had already spent a few hours drooling over it.  
He was met at the foot of the jet by the red-haired woman. She had one hand resting ostensibly on her hip, just a few easy centimetres from her gun. Her green eyes were narrowed thoughtfully.  
‘John Blake.’  
‘Agent Romanoff.’ He said politely.  
‘Out for a walk?’ The suggestive way she pronounced the word made it clear that she would believe no such tale.  
‘Planned visit, actually.’ He said lightly, ‘I have something that might interest your Dr. Banner.’  
‘Oh?’ One carefully raised eyebrow.  
‘Yup.’  
She scrutinized him but eventually let him pass with a curt nod. There was no offer to accompany him.  
The inside of the jet was much like the outside; smooth, polished and state-of-the-art. He was kind-of, sort-of, in aircraft nerd heaven. It wasn’t particularly large, though, so there was only one room with four occupants.  
‘Hi.’  
There was a general murmur of acknowledgement. Stark was noticeably cooler – he seemed not to have gotten over the coffee incident. It might have been because John had never actually apologised.  
‘Dr. Banner,’ John focused his gaze on the mild-mannered man, ‘how would you like to present at a seminar on the medicinal uses of gamma radiation?’  
…

The seminar was interesting, even for John who had only a rudimentary interest in all things science. He hadn’t even known it was on until five-thirty that afternoon when an old buddy who worked in some kind of medical research rang him in an absolute panic. Apparently the guest speaker for a seminar had cancelled without warning and maybe he had heard incorrectly, but dear God he hoped he was right, but wasn’t John running around with noted Gamma expert Dr. Bruce Banner? Did John know that he was the leading mind on Gamma radiation? No? Was John born in a barn? Anyway, could John please, please, please, convince Dr. Banner to present at the seminar?  
So he had, and Dr. Banner had presented, and the seminar had gone swimmingly and now John was owed a favour by a pretty high up scientist.  
So things were going well.  
Of course, that didn’t last.  
‘I enjoyed that very much,’ Banner was saying in that soft-spoken way of his. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve been able to present at a seminar.’  
‘I didn’t realise you could do all that with gamma radiation.’ John admitted, ‘I just thought it killed you, or well, you know.’  
He had figured out, at some point, that Banner was the Hulk. It wasn’t exactly a secret; he just hadn’t thought it through.  
‘It’s actually very useful,’ Banner grinned, ‘I started my work with gamma radiation because I could see the medicinal potential – and, of course, the military one.’  
‘Must have been…’  
WHUMP!  
Banner dropped to the ground, a needle sticking thorn-like in his neck.  
John looked at his hands as if they might explain themselves.  
No answer was forthcoming.  
In the next second a wave of energy crashed through the alleyway and sent John hurtling into a brick wall. He watched, dazed, as a green mist surrounded Banner just as the man started to stir. His skin turned green, his muscles straining, and then he simply collapsed again. Loki entered his field of vision, pale with green fire flickering in his eyes. He smiled at John, baring his teeth predatorily.  
‘Excellent work.’  
John looked at him and then closed his eyes for a second so that his head might stop break dancing.  
Everything faded away in swirls of green and black.  
…

John’s first thought was less an actual thought, than an instinctual reaction to someone prodding him. He would have killed the person, but he suspected that involved the use of arms, and probably legs as well, and he wasn’t sure if his were still connected.  
So he settled for verbal abuse instead.  
‘He’s alive.’ Someone confirmed  
‘I noticed,’ was the dry reply. ‘Hey, John, John, buddy can you hear me?’  
John mumbled that he could and asked politely if they could stop drilling holes in the ground.  
They didn’t stop.  
‘What happened?’ Another voice asked, ‘where’s Bruce?’  
John started to speak but the words got stuck in his mouth. It was as dry as sandpaper, and he thought he had bits of dirt or wall on his tongue. He coughed painfully and someone pressed a bottle to his lips. It tasted like water, so he concluded that it probably was.  
His eyes flickered open and he blinked as they adjusted to the light. He was in Gordon’s office, bunched up on the couch – which explained why he couldn’t feel his legs. Captain America was hovering over him, water bottle in hand, and beside him was Ironman. Nobody else seemed to be around but John did a brief perimeter check just to be sure. It hurt a little.  
‘Where’s Bruce?’ America repeated, ‘can you remember what happened?’  
John nodded.  
‘Loki happened.’ He winced.  
‘What happened to Bruce?’ America persisted, ‘where is he?’  
‘Don’t know,’ John shifted his shoulders, and regretted it. ‘First thing Loki did was…throw me…into a wall.’  
‘So you have no idea what happened to Bruce?’  
John blinked incredulously at the blue-clad man.  
‘That’s correct.’ He snapped. ‘On account of I was…unconscious.’  
‘Damn.’ The captain swore and then he was gone.  
John had forgotten Tony Stark was there until he spoke suddenly.  
‘So what’s it like to meet a real, live, super villain?’  
‘Everything I dreamed it would be.’ John said sarcastically, his head pounding.  
‘Get his autograph?’ Tony smirked.  
‘Yeah, on my face.’ John grouched.  
The older man laughed.  
‘Welcome to my world.’  
John called bullshit.  
‘The suit just means I can take a few more hits before I’m down.’ Tony said seriously, ‘it’s more dangerous than people realise even – especially – for us.’  
John sensed he was witnessing a rare event.  
‘Anyway,’ Tony cleared his throat, ‘we’re sorry we dragged you into this.’  
John nearly called him on that, but then realised that Tony didn’t know he was already involved in it all. Instead he just shrugged.  
‘Shit happens.’  
…

After half an hour, Tony flew him to meet up with the other Avengers. It was, quite possibly, the most frightening experience of his life. Even Bane couldn’t compare to the sheer, unadulterated, terror of hurtling through the sky at faster than the speed of sound with a guy you weren’t one hundred percent sure you could trust. Ninety-nine maybe, but that last percent involved falling hundreds of metres to certain, painful, death.  
Of course, John had handled it like a man - which meant that he had held onto Ironman for dear life and tried not to scream.  
By all accounts he had been successful.  
Mostly.  
When Tony landed, John had to fight the urge to bend down and kiss the ground just for being there. The other Avengers were just looking at him and he was struck with the sudden thought that something was wrong. The atmosphere had changed, but he didn’t quite know how or in what way. He met Agent Romanoff’s calculating gaze curiously but she gave nothing away. She muttered something in Russian, which only Barton seemed to understand, and then stalked off with feline grace. John decided not dwell on her obvious dislike of him. Instead he turned his attention to Captain America who had stepped forward to greet him.  
‘John.’ He sounded stressed. ‘We need to find Bruce – you’re sure it was Loki?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘He didn’t turn into the Hulk?’  
‘No.’  
‘I don’t understand.’ The Captain said, frustrated. ‘He should have turned the moment Loki tried anything, right Tony?’  
‘Not necessarily,’ Tony said thoughtfully. ‘If Loki found some way to stop the transformation…theoretically, if Bruce was heavily sedated he couldn’t make the change.’  
‘Yeah but he’d have to be on a drip.’ Agent Barton pointed out, ‘Hulk burns through any drug as quick as you Cap’.  
‘Right,’ Tony mused, ‘so a strong sedative would knock him out for seconds, maybe.’  
‘But it would be useless,’ America argued, ‘he’d change when he woke up.’  
‘Why would Loki want Bruce?’ John asked curiously.  
‘Last time they met Bruce spread him like jam over the pavement.’ Tony supplied.  
‘He must know his only chance is to remove him from the equation,’ Steve surmised grimly.  
John went to make a suggestion but the words vanished somewhere between thought and action. He frowned but could not recall what he had been about to say.  
‘So what’s his play?’ Barton wondered, ‘is he going to pick us off, one by one?’  
‘That would give him the best odds.’ Steve nodded.  
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Tony argued, ‘he’s only worried about Bruce. Now that he’s out of the picture, well I think Loki’ll be deranged enough to think he can take the rest of us.’  
‘Can he?’ John asked what he thought was a prudent question.  
There was silence.  
‘…maybe.’ Tony said finally, ‘we don’t really know what he’s capable of. Last time he had a magic stick and an alien army. This time; who knows?’  
…

John wasn’t allowed to sneak off that night. The Avengers were concerned that Loki might actually be utilising the Ancient Greek tactic of divide and conquer and that John could be a potential target. Even John’s well-reasoned argument in which he pointed out that he was neither an Avenger, nor a superhero (so that was a lie, sue him) and therefore posed absolutely no threat, could not sway them.  
Tony suggested he bring his girlfriend to hang out with them.  
John shut him down with a few choice expletives.  
His night was therefore spent in bed – which, compared to perching on rooftops or being flung into buildings, was actually quite nice – while the Avengers turned the rest of his apartment into a battle tent. He wasn’t invited to their planning meeting mostly, he suspected, because Agent Romanoff objected to his presence. Of course nothing was said out loud, but he was beginning to realise that her eyebrows had a Morse code of their own.  
Naturally, that didn’t stop him from eavesdropping. To be honest, they weren’t really very gifted at whispering and Tony was very actively not even trying.  
So without much difficulty he gathered that the gist of the plan was to hope to God that Loki decided to show up sometime soon, at a time and place at which they were all present, and that they could beat him without Bruce’s aid.  
It wasn’t a great plan, if he was being honest.  
Still, it was a plan.  
He shrugged and rolled out of bed with a kind of grace that often eluded him. Grabbing a bag from under his bed he slung it over his shoulder and then slipped out the window, silent as a shadow. In the alleyway he changed swiftly into the Nightwing costume and stowed his clothes behind the loose brick.  
Then he was off into the night, a shadow on the streets.  
He didn’t notice he had more than one.  
…

In true John Blake fashion he walked straight into the middle of the ambush before he had even acknowledged its existence.  
The Avengers had left his apartment a few hours after he had snuck out. So, naturally, he followed them. They made no mention of him so he assumed they hadn’t checked to see if he was still in the bedroom. He had followed them for a good forty-five minutes before he had inexplicably lost them.  
Of course, they had turned up right around the next corner.  
The difference was, he was now the prey.  
He had put up a token resistance, but had ultimately realised he was better served by waving the white flag and showing them he was, in fact, an ally.  
The fact that he had no hope of winning a battle against such opponents was of no consequence.  
Now he was surrounded, an Avenger on every side, and the subject of more than one highly suspicious glare.  
Only Tony Stark looked pleased. John supposed this was because he was Tony Stark and therefore defied all logical explanation.  
‘So,’ Tony began, ‘you must be the famous Batman.’  
John blinked in astonishment and opened his mouth to refute the assumption.  
‘No,’ said a voice from the shadows. ‘I am.’  
…

The reaction was instantaneous. The temperature of the encounter shot up twenty degrees, but miraculously no one discharged their weapon. Batman stood calmly at the edge of the light, draped in shadows and as frustratingly mysterious as John remembered. It took him a few seconds to shake off his shock and then he formulated the appropriate response.  
‘What the fuck?’ He yelled, ‘you’re dead.’  
Batman ignored him, choosing instead to address Captain America who had taken a number of steps forward with his shield raised in preparation.  
‘You are not needed.’ He growled huskily. ‘Take your team, and leave.’  
‘I’m afraid we can’t do that,’ America said apologetically.  
‘What are you going to do about it?’ Was Tony’s helpful contribution.  
Batman scowled.  
‘I’m Batman.’ He said with finality.  
‘You know that’s not a legitimate answer to every question.’  
‘What the hell?’ John snarled, ‘you are supposed to be dead.’  
‘Quiet,’ Batman didn’t even shift his gaze. ‘This does not concern you. Go home.’  
A vein in John’s head very nearly exploded. Who the hell was Batman to just go and rise from the dead and tell John – local superhero for at least a good year – to go home like he was some kind of child??!  
‘Fuck you.’  
‘Atta boy,’ Tony crowed, ‘you tell that overgrown bat where to shove his…’  
‘Fuck you too, Stark.’ John snapped.  
‘Ouch.’ Tony mouthed.  
Agent Romanoff eyed him like she was considering inserting her elbow into some soft part of his body, suit be damned. Barton was just standing there, arms folded, smirking at the scene.  
‘Enough.’ Batman stepped forward, his cape flowing dramatically around his heels. ‘You will leave, or I will make you.’  
There was silence for a beat.  
‘Bring it on.’  
Tony, of course.  
…

John watched the fight with a curious feeling of ambivalence. He felt no loyalty for Batman – the bastard had apparently abandoned him, after all – nor did he feel anything in particular for the Avengers.  
Mostly he just felt like he was forgetting something immensely important. The thought was gnawing on his brain, but he just couldn’t put words to it.  
Barton loosed an arrow at Batman, which was easily dodged. He returned with a quick uppercut that turned into a crouch as he swept his leg out and sent the archer sprawling to the ground.  
Romanoff took the opportunity to launch a kick of her own at the dark knight’s head but missed as he vaulted to the side.  
Tony was pretty much useless in close quarters. He couldn’t get Batman without risking hitting one of the agents.  
Captain America was dithering on the sidelines, obviously hoping he wouldn’t have to engage at all.  
John noted absently that Batman wasn’t using any of his explosive devices. Maybe he hadn’t had the chance to stock up.  
Eventually, after it seemed no kind of outcome was going to be reached unless someone spontaneously combusted, Captain America stepped into the fight. Batman dropped a smoke bomb and vanished leaving Barton and Romanoff grappling with each other for the few seconds it took them to discover his disappearance.  
He popped up behind Captain America and kicked him in the head. The Captain went down momentarily but was up mere seconds later, seemingly completely unaffected.  
Tony took a shot – obviously calculating the improbability of Captain America suffering unduly if he was caught in the crossfire – and managed to burn a hole in the side of Batman’s cape.  
Batman glared at him.  
Tony took three batarangs in the chest.  
Barton loosed another arrow which Batman dodged only to run smack into Captain America’s well placed shield.  
The clang was deafening.  
Romanoff sauntered over and placed the muzzle of her gun to the back of Batman’s head. He held his hands up in surrender, his expression thunderous. She flicked the gun back into her holster and stepped back.  
Batman rose to his feet.  
‘Stay out of my way.’ He growled and stalked towards John.  
He jerked his head, indicating that John was to follow him, and then took off into the night. John glanced at the Avengers and then sprung after him – he was going to get some answers.  
…

Batman led him to an innocuous black Jaguar parked at the end of a sufficiently dark alleyway.  
‘No Batmobile?’ John asked snidely as he got in the passenger seat.  
‘No.’  
The car sprung to life under the dark knight’s hands and sped down the narrow alleyway at a greater pace than John deemed safe. Several times it narrowly escaped amputation with a quick jerk of the wheel. Batman turned the corner without braking and John had to brace himself against the car door.  
‘Where are we going?’  
He got no reply, which didn’t exactly shock him.  
The car eventually skidded to a stop on a street that John didn’t recognise. It was a part of town that he rarely ventured to – home to the rich and even richer citizens of Gotham City.  
Batman was out of the car by the time John had thought to undo his seatbelt. The car flashed as it locked, illuminating the parts of the older man’s face that weren’t engulfed by his cowl. He jerked his head in the direction of an expensive lot of apartments and then moved fluidly towards them. They used the fire escape to scale to the top of the building.  
‘Now what?’ John gazed curiously out across the city, the view was spectacular.  
‘We wait.’ Batman said gruffly.  
He sat down on the edge of the building, dangling his legs over the side.  
John was thrown by the normalcy of it.  
He sat down beside the man and for a long time they said nothing. Eventually John couldn’t bear the silence any longer.  
‘Where were you?’ He demanded.  
‘Europe.’  
‘Why?’  
Batman looked away, his gaze cast wide across the city.  
‘I gave this city my life,’ he said pensively, ‘and in the end, I gave it my death as well.’  
‘No,’ John said angrily, ‘you didn’t. You left.’  
‘I realised that we can give far more than we have, and it will never be enough. One person cannot change the tides, no matter how much he might want to.’  
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  
‘So you just gave up?’ He accused.  
Batman shook his head slowly.  
‘I decided to live my life. Can you blame me?’ He turned to face John, his eyes shadowed. ‘I gave Gotham everything I had. Aside from this brief resurrection, Batman is dead. I have nothing left to give.’  
‘So why’d you come back then?’ John asked bitterly. ‘If Batman is truly dead, why pretend otherwise?’  
‘Because I couldn’t let it go,’ was the wry answer. ‘Gotham will hang over me like spectre for the rest of my life – but that doesn’t mean it must consume it.’  
‘You’re so full of shit,’ John said uncharitably.  
He was completely unprepared for the warm laughter that followed his pronouncement.  
‘Maybe.’ Batman – no, he was clearly speaking to Bruce – conceded.  
‘Definitely.’ John muttered and brushed a hand across his forehead.  
He could feel a headache creeping up on him. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them to Bruce’s careful scrutiny.  
‘Headache.’ He explained, ‘what are we waiting for?’  
‘You’ll see.’ Bruce answered cryptically.  
…

John didn’t see.  
It took him almost eight hours to work out that Batman was probably wasting his time. He didn’t really understand why.  
The sun had risen at one point and John had politely inquired if that was what Bruce had wanted him to see.  
It wasn’t.  
Nine hours later, the sun set.  
John again inquired if this was the point of their vigil.  
It wasn’t.  
Bruce was as silent and as immovable as a stone. John was less so. He couldn’t help himself – he was an inveterate fidgeter. It was one of his irritating quirks, or charming eccentricities, depending on who you asked and how recently they had seen him. He bounced his feet along the wall, he tapped rhythms on the concrete, he traced patterns. At one point he hummed for half a glorious second before a patented Batglare scared the musicality out of him.  
His stomach growled several times, but its complaints were ignored.  
John contemplated how it was possible for two fully dressed superheros to sit on a rooftop for twelve hours, during daylight, and not be spotted by a single human being.  
John contemplated the nosy pigeon that had discovered them.  
Finally, Godzilla made an appearance.  
At first, John wasn’t sure what was going on. It had started with indistinct screams and then fires had erupted several miles away from their rooftop vigil. He had leapt to his feet immediately, but Bruce had remained placidly seated as if what was taking place was simply a projection on a screen.  
‘Fire.’ John pointed helpfully.  
‘Yes.’ Bruce agreed.  
‘Loki?’ He tried again.  
‘Yes.’  
‘Should we…you know?’  
‘Not yet.’  
John gaped at him.  
‘Bru –Batman – there are people – actual human beings – out there being chased, stomped, and god knows what else by a giant magical lizard and you want to just sit here and contemplate the meaning of life?!’  
‘Not exactly.’ Bruce said calmly.  
‘Screw you,’ John said incredulously, ‘you stay here and meditate, or whatever the fuck you’re doing. I’ll just go do my goddamn job, shall I?’  
‘That’s your problem,’ Bruce said sagely, as if someone had asked him to pinpoint it.  
‘Excuse me?’ John, against his better judgement, turned back around.  
The fires were still raging, and the monster was still rampaging. Blue light shot across the sky, the monster roared.  
‘It’s time.’ Bruce said in lieu of answering.  
…

The fight wasn’t going well. In fact, Tony would admit to that fact that they were losing it. Loki was unstoppable. They couldn’t get near him.  
Tony was running out of power.  
Clint was likely running out of arrows, if he hadn’t already.  
Natasha was well and truly out of bullets.  
Captain America…well he still had his shield, but he was probably running out of steam given how many buildings he had recently become acquainted with.  
Loki was cackling evilly and gleefully destroying their every attempt to apprehend him, safely ensconced inside his giant magical lizard.  
They couldn’t hold out much longer.  
God, he hoped the reinforcements were coming.  
Anytime now would be great.  
…

It turned out they were breaking and entering. Into what, and for what purpose, John was still frustratingly in the dark. He was beginning to think Bruce had gone insane, but something kept him following the man despite his misgivings. When their trail finally led them down into a sewer, John snapped.  
‘Where the hell are we going?’  
‘Patience.’ Bruce said infuriatingly, ‘we’re nearly there.’  
‘Nearly where?’ He hissed.  
Bruce led them another kilometre through the pipes and then up a ladder and out a manhole.  
‘Here.’  
John looked around and felt an immediate, debilitating, pain in his head that sent him to his knees. Bruce watched on with interest, but seemed uninclined to assist in any way.  
John gripped the back of his head as the pressure increased, his eyes squeezed shut. There was a voice in his head; a sinister, malevolent sound.  
What is this? The voice hissed, how did he..?  
‘Fight it, John.’  
Attack, now.  
The pressure vanished and John was overcome with a wave of calmness and isolation. His thoughts frolicked to the back of his head and waited as something foreign took over his mind. He felt his body jerk into action.  
He leapt to his feet and took a swing at Bruce, or where Bruce had just been standing.  
‘Fight it.’ Bruce said again, ‘Loki is controlling you.’  
John launched himself into a series of punches and kicks.  
None connected.  
It was like fighting a shadow.  
Kill him now!  
John tried, but he could not achieve his objective.  
Useless, the voice cried.  
Bruce muttered something into a radio John didn’t know he possessed and then floored him effortlessly.  
In the next moment the voice and the pressure vanished and his thoughts flooded back into his brain.  
‘What was that?’ He gasped.  
Bruce removed the foot pinning him to the ground.  
‘Loki has had you under his control for a number of days.’ Bruce helped him to his feet. ‘With your assistance, he kidnapped Dr. Banner.’  
‘What? No!’ John protested, ‘I don’t…’ He trailed off.  
‘No memory?’ Bruce asked grimly, ‘we’ll deal with that later. You’re not free of him yet – he’s just distracted for the moment. We need to find Dr. Banner.’  
‘Where are – is he here?’  
‘Yes.’ Bruce strode towards a nearby door, ‘this is Loki’s…lair.’  
He placed a small explosive on the lock.  
‘How did you find it?’ John stepped back and averted his gaze.  
The lock blew.  
‘I’ve been tailing him since he got the drop on you.’  
Bruce opened the door and stepped inside cautiously. He was clearly expecting some kind of booby trap. It was probably a safe assumption.  
Yet nothing attacked them, or seemed otherwise out of the ordinary.  
‘Guess he wasn’t expecting visitors.’ John mused.  
‘That was the idea,’ Bruce muttered.  
The room was fairly ordinary. It certainly didn’t strike John as the lair of a magical psychopath. Although he supposed he had no experiences from which to draw a baseline on that.  
There were a lot of boxes – a warehouse of some kind?  
The radio on Bruce’s belt crackled suddenly and Bruce had a hurried conversation with whoever was on the other line. John couldn’t make out the words so he settled for waiting for it to finish.  
‘What’s going on?’  
‘We’re running out of time.’ Bruce growled.  
…

‘This just in, the international group of superheros known as ‘The Avengers’ seem to be fighting Loki in the streets of Gotham. We have unfortunately lost contact with our reporter on the scene but our helicopter has confirmed that this is indeed the case…’  
‘In other news – oh my God! Is that..? It looks like Loki’s Godzilla just backhanded Ironman into the National Bank of Gotham.’  
‘It’s confirmed. Ironman is down.’  
…

They had found a basement. In retrospect, they should have expected it. Basements seemed like the kind of thing super villains would invest in. As far as basements went though, Loki’s was pretty benign. There were no traps set, no guards, not even a mutant mouse to frighten them off. Not that it would have done the trick, but it might have been nice to have faced some kind of resistance.  
Banner was lying unconscious in the centre of the room. He was suffused in a strange green glow that seemed connected to four crystals set around the perimeter of the room.  
John moved to get a closer look at one, Bruce yanked him back.  
‘Magic.’ The older man warned.  
John nodded.  
‘What’s the plan?’  
Bruce frowned.  
‘Not sure.’ He fingered his utility belt, ‘it seems like the magic is connected to the crystals.’  
‘Sounds right.’  
‘Logically, we should only have to disturb them in some way and the magic should…stop.’  
‘Blow them up?’ John suggested, only partly serious.  
‘Could – actually more like will – bring the building down on our heads.’  
‘Then what?’  
Bruce shook his head silently.  
‘Maybe we can smash them?’ John suggested.  
Bruce frowned, still silent.  
Screw it, John thought.  
He kicked the nearest crystal. It sailed into the wall and shattered.  
Bruce’s eyes actually widened in what John was going to call shock, whether or not it actually was.  
The green glow dissipated, only the man in the centre of the room didn’t change colour.  
This took a few seconds to penetrate John’s brain.  
‘Shit.’ He realised.  
An ear splitting roar filled the room and the ceiling rafters rattled with the vibrations.  
Bruce and John shared a look.  
They ran.  
…

It was a harrowing flight made possible only by Bruce’s car which sped down the roads in terror as the Hulk hurtled after it in pure, unadulterated, fury.  
Luckily, he chased them all the way to their destination.  
Maybe luckily was too strong a word.  
‘He’s gaining.’  
Bruce glanced in the rear-vision mirror.  
‘I know.’  
‘Seriously, Bruce. Drive faster.’  
‘I am.’  
John watched the Hulk bound into the air and land a few metres from the car. The impact nearly sent the car into a roll.  
‘Oh shit,’ John gripped the door handle for dear life. ‘Bruce – floor it.’  
The Hulk leapt again.  
‘…yeah, flooring it.’ Bruce jammed his foot down on the pedal.  
The car zoomed from under the Hulk’s shadow and narrowly missed being flattened. Bruce pushed it to the limit, the needle hit 200, 220.  
Thank God it was just light enough he could see where he was going, but not quite light enough that there were actually people on the road. That could have been disastrous.  
John hoped Bruce was as good a driver as he seemed to think he was.  
‘There – there it is!’ John spotted the Godzilla.  
Bruce kept driving, his brows narrowed.  
The Hulk bounded after them, leaving dents the size of cars in his wake.  
They were going too fast. John told Bruce as much, but the older man didn’t seem to hear him.  
‘Slow down.’  
Bruce, if it was possible, sped up.  
‘Dead end,’ John said nervously. ‘Bruce? Dead end, dead end, dead end, DEAD END YOU GODDAMN MANIAC DEAD END!!!’  
Bruce slammed the brake then pulled his foot back, spun the wheel, and the car shot down a side alley.  
The Hulk didn’t seem to notice.  
Bruce slammed the brake again, then released before the wheels could jam.  
The wall at the end of the alley got closer.  
John cursed Bruce, his mother, and all his ancestors that had found it necessary to procreate in order to eventually bring Bruce into the world.  
Bruce slammed the brakes again.  
The car slowed.  
The wall got closer.  
John swore.  
Bruce slammed the brakes so hard the tires screamed at the sudden friction. The car skidded, smoke steaming, to a halt centimetres away from the wall John had begun to consider his impending doom.  
‘Nailed it.’ Bruce said after a pause.  
John got out of the car, slammed the door.  
Then he laughed. It was three parts shock, four parts terror and three parts hysterical amusement.  
‘Nailed it.’ He repeated incredulously. ‘You’re insane and I hate you.’  
Bruce looked like he didn’t buy it.  
John didn’t care, it was still a fact.  
‘We should go.’ Bruce suggested.  
They abandoned the car and ran back up the alleyway to where Hulk had continued on without them. He had obviously leapt straight over the building and into the fight that was taking place behind it.  
John and Bruce scaled it with grappling guns and arrived on the roof to witness the Hulk vs. Godzilla. It wasn’t going in anyone’s favour.  
Loki’s monster seemed to be made of pure magic – the Hulk couldn’t touch it. On the other hand, it didn’t matter how many buildings it threw the Hulk into, it wasn’t doing any damage.  
It took John awhile to find the other Avengers in the chaotic jumble of broken buildings. The only obvious one was Captain America who was doggedly attempting to strike at the monster and being completely ignored. Ironman was nowhere to be found and he imagined the two agents had taken cover after running out of ammunition. They were smart enough to realise there was absolutely nothing they could do.  
‘We need a plan.’ John observed.  
‘Distraction.’  
‘We should find Ironman.’  
‘Yes.’  
…

They found Ironman and the two agents taking shelter amongst the rubble. Ironman was flat on his back, the visor open so they could see Tony’s face. The two agents were standing guard, both with knives and in identical defensive postures.  
The moment they saw John, they tensed in preparation to attack.  
‘Hey,’ John held his hands up in the peace gesture. ‘We’re allies.’  
‘Is he still compromised?’ Romanoff demanded. Her lips were pursed and her loose red-hair gave her a wild look.  
‘Yes.’ Bruce grunted, back in his Batman persona.  
‘You have a plan.’ Barton observed.  
Bruce nodded curtly at Ironman.  
‘Need him.’  
‘He’s out like a light.’ Barton sheathed his knife, ‘took too many hits – completely lost power. Not a word since.’  
‘We’ll have to wake him up.’  
‘No can do. He can’t move in that thing without power – it’s completely useless.’  
‘I have power.’ Bruce jerked his head back in the direction they came from, ‘car battery.’  
‘…should work.’ Tony grunted, ‘ugh who hit me with a building?’ He blinked blearily up at them. ‘Won’t last long though – what’s the plan Batman?’  
Bruce shook his head.  
‘Later.’  
‘No, now.’ Romanoff demanded.  
John turned to look at her, and the last thing he saw was a red-haired blur as she launched towards him.  
…

Batman scowled.  
‘Solved the problem.’ Natasha said unapologetically.  
Tony tended to agree. He liked John, but felt that at this point it was more important to consider the fact that he was under Loki’s influence.  
‘The plan.’ Natasha said pointedly.  
Batman scowled.  
‘Get him to the car battery.’  
‘After that.’  
‘Defeat Loki.’  
‘I have a problem with item number one.’ Tony mentally raised a hand.  
They looked at him.  
‘Well I don’t know about you, but I have certain qualms about being dragged around like a sack of potatoes.’  
Batman scowled.  
‘Get over it.’  
…

It took them an hour to drag Tony to the car. Mostly it was because he was heavy and Natasha had oh-so-helpfully knocked John out. Also, because there was a building in the way.  
It wasn’t a fun process.  
Tony was just glad his suit was made of metal, or he’d be sporting a considerable amount of bruising from the sheer number of times he had been dropped like the sack of potatoes he had compared himself to earlier.  
It was highly demeaning, not to mention stuffy.  
When they finally reached the car it had been a more or less simple matter to hook him up to the battery. Or it would have been, had Tony been available to do it. As it was he had to rely on the Batman to do the job. The Batman, who was constitutionally incapable of following simple instructions.  
After they hooked him up, the dark knight finally condescended to explain the plan.  
The magic monster was deflecting all attacks against Loki.  
The Hulk could not touch the magic monster.  
Therefore Loki needed to be distracted by something that could touch the monster so that the Hulk could grab him.  
Tony was the distraction.  
He had about three minutes of power at his disposal.  
They could not communicate this plan to the Hulk.  
It had all the hallmarks of a disaster.  
Tony’s suit whirred as it powered up and suddenly he could move again.  
‘Don’t screw up.’  
…

John woke, once again, amidst a pile of rubble. It was beginning to become a habit.  
He rubbed his head gingerly, feeling the swelling under his fingers. He was going to have an impressive bruise, and a matching one on his ego. One kick! She had knocked him out with one move.  
A battle was still raging around him.  
The Hulk seemed to be throwing himself at Loki again, and again, only to be plucked effortlessly from the air and hurtled hundreds of metres away.  
It seemed like a game – one that Loki was clearly enjoying.  
God knew what Captain America thought he was achieving.  
John got up, wondering where the rest of the Avengers, and Batman, were and what it was they were doing.  
He needed to stop them.  
No, wait, he needed to help them.  
Stop them. Loki shouted in his head.  
John tried to shake him out, his hold was weak. The Hulk was taking up almost all of his attention.  
Then repulsor beams lanced through the sky. The green magic flickered but resolidified and beat off another attack from the Hulk.  
Loki cackled.  
‘I cannot imagine why you persist, but it does amuse me so.’  
Batman stepped into the open, cape flaring dramatically.  
Kill him, Loki’s voice whispered, kill him, now!  
John started forward, the distance between him and his quarry shortening.  
‘Called in the cavalry did you?’ Loki smirked, ‘I am flattered.’  
‘No,’ Batman observed. ‘You’re terrified.’  
Loki’s smile twisted.  
‘Of a man who dresses like a bat? The only thing you are capable of scaring is the insects upon which your kind feed.’  
‘Funny.’ Batman intoned, his voice completely devoid of amusement. ‘I see one right in front of me.’  
John raised the knife he hadn’t been aware he was holding.  
Kill him.  
Batman didn’t turn around.  
NOW!  
John leapt forward.  
A ferocious roar rent the air and the debris shuddered as Hulk smashed into Loki, whose back was turned as he traded insults with Batman.  
At the moment of impact, John felt the pressure release his mind and suddenly he was completely aware of what he was doing.  
It was too late to stop.  
A hand encircled his wrist and yanked down hard. He ended up stabbing the ground with first the knife, and then his face.  
He swore but thanked Romanoff all the same – she had prevented him from stabbing the guy he hoped to convince to be his mentor.  
‘Anytime.’ The corners of her mouth lifted.  
He was calling it a smile.  
‘Oh God,’ Tony panicked and flailed in the air. ‘Someone, anyone, catch me? Bruce – HULK?!’ He started to plummet.  
The Hulk looked up from where he was smashing Loki into the ground with extreme prejudice.  
‘Hulk catch.’ Captain America pointed.  
Hulk repeated the instruction joyfully and then bounded forward to snatch Tony out of the air like a Frisbee.  
Batman, seemingly unaware of how close he had come to being stabbed in the back, made his way over to Loki. John followed him.  
‘That was a good plan.’ Captain America inclined his head.  
‘Yeah, about bloody time Bruce.’ Tony complained from where he was nestled in Hulk’s bulky green arms.  
John blinked – wait, Bruce?  
‘Just the right time, I’d say.’ Batman –no, apparently Bruce now – said with more tone than had probably ever been utilised within the Batsuit.  
‘Oh, this is just typical. The great Bruce Wayne, always has to be fashionably late.’  
‘I’m touched,’ Bruce drawled, ‘you know me so well.’  
Tony laughed.  
‘No, I just know myself.’  
‘What the fuck?’ John breathed.  
Batman, author of the fucking manual on secret identities and how they should never ever be revealed on pain of death, had not only at some point told Tony fucking Stark his secret identity but actually allowed the man to use it in public WHILE HE WAS WEARING THE BATSUIT.  
‘You don’t even want to know.’ Barton advised. ‘They’re like a pair of freaky clones.’  
‘How long have they known each other?’  
Barton shrugged.  
‘By the way,’ Tony seemed completely unaffected by the fact that he was being carried around. ‘That was some fine acting, Brucie.’  
‘Not too shabby yourself.’ Bruce knelt down and utilised a series of complicated knots to truss Loki up like a Christmas turkey.  
John suddenly realised what had been going on right in front of his eyes.  
‘You had this planned all along!’ He accused.  
Bruce nodded.  
‘You already know I tailed Loki. When I saw him attack you I decided to find out what he was planning. When he kidnapped Bruce Banner, I knew how we could stop him.’  
‘You used me.’ John realised.  
‘Yes. You were deliberately misled so that Loki would remain ignorant of our true purpose. It was necessary that he believe we were acting independently of the Avengers, and that he perceived them the greater threat.’  
‘You pretended you didn’t know them, and that you wanted them to leave - you threw that fight!’  
‘Yes.’  
‘Okay, hang on,’ Tony interjected, ‘he could never have actually won that fight.’  
Bruce raised an eyebrow.  
At least, John thought he did. Under his cowl, it was difficult to tell.  
‘Four against one. Captain America, Ironman and two homicidal spy types.’  
There was a pause.  
‘No,’ Tony said.  
Captain America smiled.  
‘No, no don’t you dare.’  
The two agents shared looks of exasperation.  
Everyone looked at Bruce.  
‘I’m Batman.’  
…

The media were insisting that the Avengers deserved medals for their actions. They made no mention of Nightwing, or the sudden appearance of Batman (which was probably by meticulous, and costly, design).  
At some point John realised that the Avengers knew he was Nightwing. It strangely made him feel better about the whole thing. At least now he had some superhero contacts he could prevail upon in times of need.  
Maybe.  
It had been three days since Loki had been vanquished, and the Avengers had yet to leave the city. They seemed to like Gotham, for some bizarre reason.  
Mostly they just liked crashing at John’s apartment and irritating the ever-loving-crap out of him. He hadn’t had the space to himself for a week. Even Bruce was crashing there, which was something he had never expected.  
It felt like the sleepovers he had used to have with the other orphanage kids, only in this case the sleepers hid sharp objects under their pillows and woke at the drop of a hat.  
It was amusing to watch.  
He was surprised to discover that he didn’t want them to leave.  
Of course, eventually duty called.  
This time it came in the shape of Thor, Norse God of Thunder, bringing a race of aliens for a tea party in Europe. Which technically wasn’t their jurisdiction, but there was damage control and clean-up to be done so…  
They left without fanfare.  
John and Bruce watched them go.  
‘Bruce,’ Tony stuck his head back around the door of the jet. ‘Do me a favour, would you? Next time you die – stay dead. A man can’t handle so much disappointment.’  
Which John was beginning to understand was code for don’t you dare die again, you bastard.  
It was pretty cute.  
He would probably die in his sleep if he dared tease Bruce, however.  
John watched the jet fly off into the distance and then sighed.  
‘I suppose you’re just going to disappear again.’  
‘I told you, John.’ Bruce didn’t look at him, ‘Batman is dead.’  
John was silent for a moment.  
Oh to hell with it.  
‘Teach me.’ He turned to face the older man, ‘then you can go back to being dead. If you can’t face up to Batman again, that’s your shit to deal with, but the least you can do is honour his memory.’  
‘Teach you?’ Bruce sounded amused by the proposition.  
‘I could really use the help.’ John said honestly, ‘I’m tired of being flung into buildings.’  
Bruce considered.  
‘You won’t like it.’  
‘Try me.’  
‘You’ll hate me.’  
‘Already do.’  
‘…but I suppose you might learn something.’  
…

The end.


End file.
